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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22480987">watch what'll happen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/pseuds/oh_la_fraise'>oh_la_fraise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Episode: s05e02 Love Letters, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:55:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22480987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/pseuds/oh_la_fraise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>David is acting strange.  Patrick tries to figure out why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>361</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>watch what'll happen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivebranchesandredwine/gifts">olivebranchesandredwine</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My jam basket gift for the amazing Doc Olive!  I hope you enjoy.  Thanks to Delilah McMuffin for giving me lots of desperately needed reassurance.</p>
<p>Title is from MUNA's I Know a Place, which is a very David/Patrick song.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick swore and ducked.  He hadn’t been in a bar fight since 2015, when cousin Micky had insinuated that Tom Brady was a dirty rotten cheater.  The meathead swore and swung again, and Patrick felt himself grin when the guy missed; he’d clearly had too much.Stevie had vanished—hopefully, she was alerting the bouncer, or, more realistically, about to pop up behind this guy and smash a beer bottle over his head.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick stumbled—he’d been drinking pretty steadily himself—and the fucker grinned and slammed forward, pinning Patrick against the wall.  <em>I already have a boyfriend, </em>he wanted to say, but he stopped because his alcohol-clouded brain reminded him that was very close to not being true, and then he was worried he was going to start crying in the middle of getting his ass kicked.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then the guy reared back to take a swing, and Patrick wasn’t thinking anything. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—Earlier—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick, on more occasions than he’d care to admit, had thought about getting robbed on his way to the bank.  Patrick usually did the daily deposit while David closed up; they’d tried doing it the other way on occasion, but David always called Patrick at the bank asking their account number, and then he’d return to the store to redo all of the stock Patrick had put out to make the store “flow better.”  They’d established the division of labor fairly early on—before they’d started dating, even—and rather than be annoyed that David was too concerned with shifting the face creams a tenth of a degree to the right to be able to remember an eight digit code, Patrick took it as yet another sign of how well they complemented each other.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, yeah, getting robbed.  Patrick was aware that he was carrying a large sum of money, even if it was just from the store to the car and from the car to the bank parking lot.  He knew he wasn’t the most tough looking guy, and he went when it was usually dark outside.He’d even had an embarrassing dream or two about David having to rescue him from a dangerous hostage situation the way he’d used to have to rescue Alexis.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So when a vendor pick up made him miss open bank hours, he was a little relieved to be able to take the deposit during daylight hours the next morning.  He made small talk with Diane, asking about how her poodle was doing, and stole a root beer sucker from the bowl on the counter.It was David’s favorite flavor.  Patrick unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His phone rang as he was getting in the car, arms laden with coffee, and he pulled it out.  David probably wanted lunch from the burger place next to the bank.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” he said, wrapping the sucker and tossing it in the cup holder for later.  “What’s up?”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um,” David said, sounding a little hoarse.  Patrick’s shoulders tensed.“We might have just gotten robbed?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The world went out of focus a little; Patrick’s ears were ringing, and he saw a life without David before him, cold and empty. “—some brie, too; we’ll have to order some more—” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?” Patrick asked, trying to keep his heart from beating straight through his chest.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, he got the last of the brie.  And some of the really good tapenade?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, was it the shoplifting teens again?”  Patrick asked, trying to make anything David was saying make sense.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, <em>no, </em>he was <em>armed,” </em>David said, and Patrick whited out again.  David could be dead, and his parent’s would never get to meet him as Patrick’s boyfriend, would never even <em>know—</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked at the cash pouch in the seat beside him and realized why the robber hadn’t taken any cash.  If he hadn’t stuck around late yesterday tasting Martha’s latest microbrew and taken the deposit when he was supposed to—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drive was mostly a blur, and it wasn’t until he was back in the store and could see with his own eyes that David and Stevie were okay that his shoulders unclenched a little.  He handed out the coffee he’d absentmindedly brought in, even though the last thing any of them needed was caffeine.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t until the cop was there that the full picture came out—that David and Stevie had basically handed the robber some of more the pricier products they sold unasked—that Patrick’s hysterical relief settled into something that he was a little disturbed to discover tasted more like annoyance.  It wasn’t so much how David and Stevie had reacted—although they could have given the robber some of the mozzarella instead of the more expensive brie—but David had said <em>we got robbed </em>and Patrick’s mind had gone to a vicious predator waving an uzi, not some guy with a hand in his hoodie.  He should have known that David was prone to over-exaggeration and taken his freak out with a grain of salt instead of leaping to the worst conclusion in face of David’s predictable dramatics.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time Patrick had reached that realization, it was time to close.  The store had been busy throughout the day with residents of Schitt’s Creek coming to gawk at the bloody crime scene, and they’d at least made a hefty profit.  Patrick let out a strangled laugh as he realized he needed to go back to the bank to make another deposit.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David looked up at the sound.  It had been so busy all day that they’d barely had a chance to interact, but David seemed mostly back to himself. “Everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I just—have to take the deposit to the bank.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David sank into himself a little, and Patrick could read him like a book: he was tired and just wanted to go home.  Patrick wanted pretty much the same, so he relented his business sensibility just this once.“I’ll take it tomorrow morning again.  I don’t feel like driving to Elmdale again tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David nodded, and followed him to the car, quiet; Patrick was a little worried, because a silent David was rarely a good thing.  But when they got in the car, David immediately snatched up the sucker.“Oh, root beer, that’s my favorite!”he said before shoving it in his mouth.  He winced.“It’s very gummy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick blushed a little in the low light of the car.  He thought he could spend a hundred years with David and still be shocked by the way David made him stupid with lust.  “I, uh, started it before you called.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David stared at him for a second, and then leaned in.  David’s mouth was warm and slick and, sure enough, tasted a little like root beer.  Patrick groaned a little, the tension of the day melting out of his spine, replaced by the scratch of David’s stubble.David licked into his mouth, sliding a hand to rest on Patrick’s neck, and Patrick groaned, fingers clenching in the back of David’s stupidly expensive cardigan. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulled back reluctantly, shifting a little to try to calm down.“Um, we’re going to get arrested if we keep this up in public,” Patrick said.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really don’t want to see that cop again,” David grimaced.  Patrick laughed as he started to drive them home.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next morning, he wanted to let sleep David in, but David was already dressed and playing on his phone when Patrick blinked awake..  There were heavy circles under David’s eyes despite his heavy eye cream.“Everything okay?”Patrick asked.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David rolled his eyes.“Yeah.  Just—I think you might be getting a cold, because you snored <em>all night.” </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t snore,” Patrick said, relieved David was teasing him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They got ready in affable silence and headed to the store, where Patrick prepared the deposit.  “If someone comes saying they have a bomb, make sure you see it before you give them the deed to the store.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha ha<em>,” </em>David said. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made small talk with Diane—the poodle had peed on a neighbor’s new boots—and grabbed an extra root beer sucker this time.  When he got back, David didn’t say hello, but disappeared into the bathroom abruptly—Patrick wondered briefly if he was mad, but he emerged soon enough.  His face was a little damp, and Patrick had a sneaking suspicion David had just written off another product as a tester.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things returned to normal over the next few days.  Patrick began taking the deposit at night again, and there was no sign of the dastardly robber.  David continued to insist that Patrick’s snoring was keeping David from sleeping, to the point that David’s hands were shaking a little, and Patrick tried to think of a way to introduce his nose dilator that said more <em>don’t you want to put a ring on this </em>and less <em>please don’t run away screaming in horror.  </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the store having been open for over a year, he and David had settled into a nice routine: they were closed Mondays, so David worked Sundays because they opened later, meaning he got to sleep in, and Patrick worked Tuesdays because he usually had baseball on Sundays.  That left them to spend the entirety of Mondays together, and they’d implemented a firm rule they weren’t allowed to talk about the store at all.This particular Monday it was pouring rain, so they’d spent a lazy day napping and eating in between rounds of sex.David had even let them fuck on the couch without a towel, and Patrick was chalking that particular win with David being occupied with the kick off their summer series in a few days.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they got out of the shower for the third time that day, David collapsed onto the bed in his boxers.  That was normally a sight Patrick was always happy to see, but he’d pointedly ignored his pajamas Patrick had gotten out for him.  “I need to go back to the motel,” David said, gesturing to the direction of his shoes.His voice was already slurred with sleep.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?” Patrick asked.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stuff to do,” David said, snuffling at the end.  Patrick pulled the blanket up around his shoulders; David always got cold when he slept.  What was more than likely a wig emergency could wait until tomorrow.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two days later, something woke Patrick up in the hazy dark of early morning.  There was a quiet rustle, and Patrick started to push himself up, but a hand ran down his shoulder, and he drifted back off to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he woke up again, the bed beside him was empty and cold to the touch.  He sat up, slowly; there weren’t any noises coming from the bathroom, and Patrick could see the rest of the empty apartment.  It was his day to open, but occasionally insomnia got the best of David, and he let Patrick sleep in, reasoning that at least one of them should be able to.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he got to the store, though, it was dark and empty, no signs of David anywhere.  Patrick was used to David being late, but that was because David was usually <em>asleep.  Where are you? </em>he texted, unease worming in his gut.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Left something at the hotel </em>David replied almost immediately.  <em>Be in soon.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">True to his word, David showed up shortly after.  He was wearing an outfit that hadn’t been in rotation in his drawer at Patrick’s, and Patrick felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders.  David had just gone back to pick another outfit.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still— “Everything okay?” he asked.  David’s hands were trembling again, and Patrick tried to think of a way to express his concern without raising David’s hackles. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” David said, thumbing one of his rings.  He only did that when he was nervous about something.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick watched David carefully throughout the day.  Nothing else seemed amiss until he bundled up the delivery for the bank while David was closing, wiping down the shelves and re-lidding the testers.  “You want me to grab dinner?” he asked.They’d been trying to cook more—or David had been; Patrick could admit he wasn’t the most domestic of people, and David usually had an idea of what the food was <em>supposed </em>to taste like, even if he couldn’t get it to do so.  But David looked tired, bags heavy under his eyes.A cold had brought down a good portion of the local school population, and Patrick wouldn’t be surprised if David, as worn down as he was, had picked it up from Jocelyn’s weakly applesauce sojourn. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, that sounds good,” David said.  He drew up until he was in Patrick’s space, arms wrapping around his waist.  “Greek, maybe?”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.”  Patrick was trying to remind himself that their front windows were totally visible to main street as David absent-mindedly kissed his neck.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have to let me go if you want hummus,” he said.  He pulled back a little, and David’s arms tightened even more.  “You okay?” he asked when David still didn’t let go.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David rolled his eyes.  “So sue me for wanting to hold my boyfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick made the trip as quickly as possible, the large portion of his brain that was dedicated to David ringing with alarm.  When he arrived at the apartment, David seemed fine, though; he’d turned on all the lights, and Patrick was suddenly exhausted seeing his bright and homey apartment.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David wasn’t drinking wine with dinner, though; which had Patrick’s hackles up again, so when David palmed something and swallowed, Patrick saw it immediately.  “Got a headache?” he asked.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” David said, looking like a deer in headlights. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you just took some aspirin, right?” Patrick asked, fairly sure it hadn’t been aspirin.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah,” David said.  He was twisting his rings again.  Patrick took a deep breath.David was allowed to have secrets, he told himself.  The thought gave him a sour feeling in his gut.But Patrick wasn’t keen to pick a fight about honesty when the presence of Patrick’s parents loomed so heavy, so Patrick let it go. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next morning, David was gone again by the time Patrick woke up.  He took a quick shower and hurried to the store, relaxing a little when he saw the lights on and the <em>We’re Open! </em>sign in the door.  He ducked into the cafe; whatever was going on, there were few better ways to get on David’s good side than food.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” said Twyla as she was sliding over David’s ridiculous coffee and a muffin the size of a softball.  “Can you save me some of that new aftershave you got in?I was going to grab some during my break yesterday, but the store was closed.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick knew Twyla’s breaks were at 10:30 and 3:30 on the dot, because he’d had to hear one too many horrifying and confusing stories about the Sands family tree during those periods.  The store was closed from 1 to 2, not during Twyla’s breaks.Patrick had been out doing pick ups, but the store should have been open.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unless David had closed for some reason.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe it was David’s work ethic at play, Patrick tried to tell himself.  The store was David’s beloved child, but he’d learned how to be a selectively hands-off caretaker from his parents.  Maybe he really was being kept awake by Patrick’s snoring, and had snuck off to the back while Patrick was gone to take a nap. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought it about all morning.  David seemed fine.He’d inhaled the muffin practically in one bite, and tried more than once to lure Patrick to the back under the guise of carrying a box together.  At one point, when David was in the bathroom, Patrick looked over to his black bag sitting bereft behind the counter.Patrick shook his head.Going through David’s stuff would be crossing a line he couldn’t come back from.  He needed to nut up and ask David what was going on like a big boy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But first, Patrick thought he might be talked off a ledge.  He’d always enjoyed the Hardy Boys as a kid, and he’d drove his Dad crazy inventing mysteries.  Patrick had spent so much time hiding his true self, he supposed, that he defaulted into assuming everyone was as secretive.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He said something about needing a permit renewal and ducked out after lunch.  It technically wasn’t a lie, Patrick thought to himself peevishly, but he was in and out of Town Hall in five minutes.  He left and immediately veered towards the motel, ducking awkwardly behind a potted plant as Mr. Rose and Roland climbed into Roland’s truck.  He heard something that sounded suspiciously like <em>quarantine, </em>and vowed to try not to keep accidentally falling asleep in David’s bed.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Inside, Stevie leaned back, her feet propped up on the desk.  She was reading something that looked suspiciously like a teen romance novel, but she slammed it shut before he could really see.  “Hey,” he said to Stevie awkwardly.They’d always had an easy rapport, but the foundation of their friendship was trolling David.He wasn’t sure how to talk to her about genuine concern for David instead.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” she said brusquely, eyebrow raised like it was a question.  He hadn’t seen her more than in passing in a while—since the robbery, he realized.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, so how are you?” He tried.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She narrowed her eyes.  “Okay, since you’re here on a random Wednesday without David while the store is open, I’m assuming you didn’t come here to make small talk.  Spit it out, Brewer.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He appreciated her frankness; he would have been stuck chatting about the weather for twenty minutes if he’d gone to any of the Roses.  He walked up a little closer to the counter and lowered his voice, even though this wouldn’t even be the most top five awkward scenarios Mr. Rose had walked in on regarding him and David.  “Have you, um, have you noticed anything up with David lately?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stevie went a little still.  She was a better liar than David, but that wasn’t saying much.  “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, he’s just been acting strangely,” Patrick said, feeling less crazy as he said it out loud.  “Just. . .he hasn’t been sleeping, and he’s been disappearing randomly.And I saw him take a pill?”  He knew David had a history of drug use, but until he’d laid it all out, that fact hadn’t been much of a concern.  “You don’t think he's . . . using anything, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stevie bit her lip.  “Okay, so I am not getting involved.  You’re going to have to talk to David.  But he’s not on dru—well, he’s not in danger.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick felt a little clammy.  “So you know what’s going on?”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope,” Stevie said firmly, shaking her head.  “Not getting involved.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he said, pushing away from the counter and feeling like he was about to cry.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Patrick,” Stevie called.  He turned around.“It’s not my place to tell you what’s going on.  But he’ll be okay—he just needs you to take care of him a little.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick nodded morosely and began walking back to the store.  So <em>there </em>was something wrong, and whatever it was, David had told Stevie about it but not Patrick.  He’d known, going into a relationship with David, that Stevie and David were close.He didn’t begrudge David that; he knew they needed people outside of each other.  But when it came to the big stuff—Patrick wanted to know.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time he got back to the store, Patrick was in a spiral.  Why did David feel like he couldn’t talk to Patrick?He thought they’d agreed to be honest with each other after the Rachel debacle.  <em>But you still aren’t telling him everything, </em>a nasty voice whispered in Patrick’s head.  He was feeling pretty sorry for himself until he walked through the door and realized David was no where to be seen.  He wasn’t in the bathroom, so Patrick headed to the stock room, figuring David had just ducked back to grab a box.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David was leaning against the wall, eyes screwed shut, shoulders around his ears.  His breathing was so harsh and fast Patrick was surprised he hadn’t heard it the second he’d entered the store.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick ducked back out, feeling every second he was away from David.  He flipped the sign to closed and locked the door and sprinted back to the stockroom.  David’s breathing was so shallow Patrick was afraid he was going to pass out.He put a hand on David’s deceptively scratchy sweater, right over his heart, and brought David’s hand up to his chest.  “Breathe.Deep breaths.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick had seen David get anxious plenty of times, but he’d never seen him have a true panic attack.Even though Patrick knew David would be okay, it was still one of the scariest things that had ever happened to Patrick.He was thrown back to win David had said <em>we got robbed, </em>and Patrick was so consumed with the thought of something happening to David he was halfway to a panic attack himself.He took a deep breath and stroked David’s hair with his free hand.David needed him right now; Patrick needed to be strong. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After several minutes, David’s breath settled into a more gentle pattern.  He let his weight fall onto Patrick, and Patrick was glad to hold him up.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually, David swallowed and pulled back.  Patrick followed.“I’m okay now,” David said.His voice was shaky.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wanna talk about it?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David shook his head, but he didn’t try to pull away again.  He bit his lip; David liked to pick his words carefully.“I have to tell you something.”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick pushed him to the small couch they had tucked in the stockroom and sat down beside him, running a hand up and down his back.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David took a deep breath.  Patrick thought about how much he loved David, for better or for worse.  Whatever it was, they’d wether through it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m on meds.”  David said.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick took a second to process.  “From your Mom’s stash?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, actual, god-given, prescribed anxiety meds.  I’ve been, um,” David looked away. “I’ve been seeing a therapist in Elmdale the past two weeks for anxiety,” David said.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?”  Patrick flipped through all the crazy scenarios David and Alexis had mentioned—the mob bosses, the hard drugs, the near death experiences.  A strip mall therapist twenty minutes away hadn’t even entered the realm of possibilities Patrick had considered of what was going on with David.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David shrugged, staring at his feet.  “Ever since the robbery. . .every time I’m here by myself, I freak out.  That’s what the panic attack was about just now—why I haven’t been sleeping well.I can’t get my brain to shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick bit his lip, trying to process this new information.  The timelines matched up, but—“Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David looked up a little.  “I’m fine for the most part—just when I’m in the store by myself.  So it’s not that serious.And I mean, it’s been two weeks, and you still are making jokes about it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, because I didn’t know you were upset,” Patrick argued.  Patrick knew he wasn’t being fair.He had no right to be at mad at David for secrets, especially when it had only been two weeks.  Patrick didn’t like the thought of being a hypocrite.But no matter what Patrick told himself, the betrayal stung.“If you had just told me—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>did </em>tell you.” David was sounding sharp, now.  “I just wanted some time to process it first.  I got dumped once for being too fragile because I screamed in a haunted house.  Forgive me for not immediately disclosing that I was having panic attacks every time I was alone in the store <em>I own </em>because a guy stuck his hand in his hoodie pocket.”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick tried to think about what he was going to say next very carefully.  He’d had moments like this with Rachel, where the feelings he’d kept buried had broken their way to the surface, and he’d said something he regretted in the heat of the moment.He’d sworn to himself after the barbecue debacle, when he’d realized just how precious what he had with David was, that he would really make an effort, because he was in this for the long haul.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, but all I’m hearing is you think that I’m so shallow I’d dump you over panic attacks that it was worth lying to me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, fuck.  So much for careful deliberation.  Regret ran through his body like a lightening bolt.  David’s jaw was hanging open, and Patrick could hear his mother saying <em>are you trying to catch flies?  </em>“David, I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David finally shut his mouth, and his face became a little calmer, a little more plasticky. “I’m going to go home early.  You can close by yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David, wait—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door shut.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick managed to get through the rest of the day and drove straight for the Wobbly Elm once the store was closed.  He was two drinks in before his mind stopped the blaring siren that had been ringing all afternoon, and he could actually think about what had happened.  How had things spiraled out of control so quickly?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick knew things had devolved, in part, because he was projecting—he was so tied up into knots about letting David think he was out to his parents that, for a moment, he had been horribly comforted by the idea that David had a secret that would put them on an even playing field.  And when David had revealed it to be something so minor in the grand scheme of things, Patrick had let his newly-returned guilt steer the ship.And that flawless reaction had gotten him getting wasted at a sad dive bar alone instead of comforting his shaken-up boyfriend.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck.  He was going to have to grovel for a while to get past this one.He wondered if David would be as excited about an expresso machine if he bought a used one off Ebay.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was halfway through a plan to sing outside the motel,<em> Say Anything</em> style, when he realized that he was much too drunk to drive.  He considered his options; David and Alexis were out for the obvious reasons, Ray would ask too many questions, and Ted would look at him all sympathetically until Patrick was eating Ben and Jerry’s and crying on Ted’s couch.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which left Stevie, who no doubt knew everything that had happened between him and David.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d expected her to be cold when she arrived, but instead she slid onto a barstool and gave him a sympathetic look.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fucked up,”  Patrick said without prompting.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, you did,” Stevie agreed.  There was a guy in a red hat a few seats down, blatantly checking her out.  Patrick glared at him.Stevie would never sleep with a Trump supporter.They weren’t even in the US, for God’s sake. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you for that helpful show of support,” he said as he knocked back the rest of his beer.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did you expect?”  Stevie waved the bartender for two shots of whiskey.  “David’s not the only one who keeps me around for my brutal honesty.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick downed his immediately.  “I just—David’s been through so much shit, and he’s still—well, he’s such a good person.”  Patrick widened his eyes a little at Stevie, trying to convey just how wonderful David was, and pretty, and smart, and funny.  Stevie got it, he thought.“He deserves, like, everything.And I’m guy whose assets total a beat up Corolla and a second-hand guitar.  I didn’t figure out I was queer until I was almost thirty.I can’t reach any of the product on the top shelves at the store without a step stool.  What the hell can I offer him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re such an idiot,” Stevie said.  Brutal honesty indeed.“David loves you so much; you have to know that.  He’s been on my couch all day, crying about how ‘<em>I’ll never be good enough for Patrick,’ </em>and ‘<em>he’s so nice to everyone and lets me rant about The Bachelor,’ </em>and ‘<em>I don’t know the difference between cash and accrual accounting what can I offer him?’”</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick was sad about the crying, and David not knowing how amazing he was, but pretty pleased about everything else.  Stevie could tell, apparently, because she rolled her eyes again.“Yeah, he should have told you about how he was feeling about the robbery, but you <em>were </em>a little bit of a dick about it, and apparently both of you think you’re the weak half of the relationship.”  She slid off the stool.“So come on so I can take you home and you two can drunk cry about how the sun shines out of each other’s asses.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stevie, I love him so much,” he said, grabbing her arm so she wouldn’t walk away.  It was important that she knew. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ew,” she said, playfully tugging away.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, is this guy bothering you?”  Mr. MAGA had gotten up; was hovering over Stevie’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Stevie said, trying to pull Patrick towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not good enough for her,” Patrick said, because he was head over heels in love with David Rose and Stevie deserved to love someone just as amazing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus fuck, Patrick,” Stevie said as the guy stepped forward.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a very badly coordinated dance from there; Patrick was doing okay, he thought, until he found himself pinned to the wall.  <em>Wait! </em>he wanted to shout.  <em>Let me tell David I love him before you kill me.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then the fist barreled towards his face, and then everything went black.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick remembered things in patches: being rolled onto a stretcher; bright flashing lights; hurling in the back of what he was pretty sure was an ambulance, Stevie’s pale and anxious face hovering over him.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he finally got his shit together enough again to pay attention to what was going on around him, he was in a dimly lit room.  <em>Hospital, </em>he instantly recognized, even though the last time he’d been in a hospital had been when he was ten and he’d broken his ankle sliding home.  But still, there was lots of odd machines and beeping, and David, slumped over staring at his phone in an uncomfortable looking plastic chair.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David,” he said, and then winced, because he’d spoken too loudly and his head really hurt.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David looked up—his eyes were red and irritated looking, like he’d been crying.  “Hey,” he said.He was a lot quieter than Patrick had been, but then again, he was usually smarter than Patrick.  “How’re you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like I got hit by an eighteen wheeler.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you’re not far off.  From what Stevie said, you got sucker punched by a guy twice your size.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David, I am so, <em>so </em>sorry—”  His head was spinning between the alcohol and the concussion, but he still needed to say it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David waved a hand.  “I’m sorry too.We can talk about it later, when you don’t look like Alexis after she rode the Tilt-a-Whirl.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now that he was up and talking, Patrick was released fairly quickly.  David, a list of discharge instructions longer than a CVS receipt clutched in his hands, helped him into the car.  Back at Patrick’s apartment, David got him settled and then bounced back and forth, clearly anxious as to how to best take care of Patrick.  Patrick loved him so much it made Patrick a little nauseous, and he was 75% sure that wasn’t because of the concussion.David brought him water, sat down on the bed, and then got back up and brought Patrick a cold pack before sitting down again.  His thigh was twitching, and Patrick patted it.“You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just—you don’t need anything else?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick shook his head, smiling just a little.  “No, I’m good.”David slumped a little.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh!” David said, sitting up again.  “I should call your parents.Let them know what happened, but that I’m keeping an eye on you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck fuck fuck it all to hell.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Patrick said.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, they’ll be worried when they don’t hear from you,” David reasoned.  “I know you guys text like every fifteen minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.  It’s just that, um.”  Brutal honesty.Brutal honesty.  “I’m not out to them, yet?”It came out like a question.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So they. . .don’t know we’re together?”  David asked, voice horribly quiet.Patrick stayed quiet.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David’s face showed about twenty different emotions in as many seconds.“—Wow,” he finally said.He stoop up, headed to the door, and then turned around and walked over to the couch, sinking down on it.  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“. . .David?” Patrick asked tentatively, trying not to point out that David still had a few feet left before his angry storm-out was complete.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not supposed to be alone for twenty-four hours,” David said tightly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick slid off the bed and shuffled to the couch; by the time he’d made the vast distance, he was exhausted, practically collapsing onto the couch.  David glared, but he still shifted a little closer.Patrick leaned into him, feeling his warmth.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think—I think I overreacted yesterday because I knew I had something to tell <em>you, </em>and I thought for a minute you wouldn’t be so disappointed I wasn’t out if you also had a major secret.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David was quiet, but he didn’t pull away from Patrick.  “Patrick, I’m not mad—I’m not mad that you’re not out to your parents.  That’s a super complicated, scary thing, and I don’t expect you to do it before you’re ready just for my sake.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Patrick said, relieved, but before he could say anything else David continued, “but it really hurts—not to mention is <em>incredibly </em>hypocritical—that you let me you think they knew.  I mean, I talk to them on the phone at the store pretty often—did you ever think about how sick I’d feel if I accidentally outed you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” Patrick said, feeling just as sick now.“I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David took a deep breath.  “Okay, we’re going to have to have a very long conversation about honesty when you don’t look like overdone pate.  But if we survived you wearing you wearing Crocs, I think we can get past this.And I’m sorry too—that I didn’t tell how you how I was feeling about the robbery.  No one else has put up with me this long; I’m in uncharted territory here a little, Patrick.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him, then, even though it hurt his tender face. “I love you so much,” Patrick said, feeling a little helpless with it.  “And I don’t put up with you; I get the privilege of loving you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, you’re like a walking Hallmark movie,” David said, grimacing.  “But I love you too.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick patted his head.“Once I’m up in running again, I can start working Sundays.Or we’ll have Stevie or Alexis come in.We’ll figure out something so you don’t have to be by yourself for a bit, until the therapy and the medicine has time to start working.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, Patrick, it’s <em>so </em>terrible,”David said.The whine in his voice made Patrick feel relieved.“I’m not supposed to drink with the buspirone, and water is a <em>scam.</em>I hope it’s better by the time your—” His face went white.“Oh, fuck me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, as much as I would love to, I think that’s going to have to wait a few days.”  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David shook his head.  “No, I—My flawless sense of taste may have led me astray for once.  I may have invited your parents as a surprise for your birthday next month?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patrick started laughing.  It wasn’t great, but it would work out, and whatever happened, they’d figure it out together. </span>
</p>
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